


Buttons and Beaus

by 912luvjaxlean



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Breakup, Episode: s03e02 Murder and the Maiden, F/M, Friendship, Missing Scene, september 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/912luvjaxlean/pseuds/912luvjaxlean
Summary: Can cocoa act as a balm for the pangs of disappointed love? Can Wagnerian opera dispel a man's cold politeness and ceremonious grace? Can we date Jack and Dot's friendship from this kitchen visit?





	Buttons and Beaus

Inspector Jack Robinson listened to Miss Phryne Fisher explain her connection to Captain Lyle Compton. The man’s heroism had saved her life in a plane crash a decade ago, she said. And, a dramatic rescue story in the past was a way to distract him from the fact that she had been fraternizing with Compton in the present. It was enough explanation to say that this hero had saved her. And, by the way, Jack Robinson, you are a hero, too, she added.

She believed that she’d honored Jack with her ‘unsung hero’ award. She meant it, of course. But, she also meant to put the recent romance with Captain Compton behind them. She touched Jack’s glass with her own to re-establish contact. This nightcap would be a prelude to a late night together, sharing confidences, discussing the case, flirting, and spending time together. She knew that they would pull out of the nosedive they had been in during the case.

Jack Robinson put on his poker face. He asked questions and made comments to distract her and to shield his thoughts.

(Didn’t she know that heroics had no meaning for him personally? What was courage in the face of forlorn hope and war’s ravages? Death’s scythe cut them all down without a qualm. What good were medals awarded to the dead?

Unheralded hero? The widower he met during a recent investigation. The poor man had tried to drown his grief with drink, made some bad decisions; his children had been taken from him. Courage? Not putting a rope around his neck.

Crash landing a plane between two mountains and a ravine seemed rather showy in comparison, his cynical side said. And ‘oh by the way, you can be a hero, too’? It felt like he was being offered a crust of bread when Compton had the whole loaf. Here are the crumbs off the main table, Jacky-boy, help yourself.)

 “So Madacasgar must have been quite something,” Jack said and fed her a line that she could expand on. He thought how like her father she was, the gift of gab, holding court, using words to say a lot about a very little. She seemed shallow to him and self-absorbed.

She chatted on about the island and her adventure there, as she moved about her private parlor. She fluffed up a throw pillow, she straightened a picture on the wall, she ran her hand along the piano. She poured herself another whisky.

“Flying must be wonderful,” he interjected when she came up for air.

“Oh, it is, it is. It’s freedom!” And, off she went again on a topic close to her heart.

(Had it always been like this? Being a member of the audience? Her need for center stage? The stories and fictions? She had been a beautiful distraction. Somehow, after seeing her like that by that fence at the airfield, dirty bare feet and wearing nothing but an officer’s leather coat, the illusion she had created in her private parlor for them was less a romance now and more a farce.)

“One question, Miss Fisher,” he interrupted.

“Jack?” She turned to him and stood quite still in the middle of her stage setting. She looked tired, a bit older, the make-up more like a mask than a beauty enhancement. She looked like she wanted him to save her from herself.

“Why didn’t your hero protect you from looking like a pass around at the airfield?”

He was in a strange and dangerous mood. Not focused on her at all. He seemed to be looking right through her. It felt like the ground was coming up way too fast. Her plans for reconciliation plummeted. “Would you like another drink?” It was all she could offer.

“I’ve had enough,” he said as he handed her his glass. “More than enough, in fact.”

“Perhaps some coffee?” She said to his back as he moved towards the sitting room door. “Tea?” He opened the door forcefully and exited. “Jack, wait,” she said to the space that used to hold the Inspector.

She swallowed her whisky and tried to reconstruct what had just happened. She poured another. Then, went over to the gramophone to play a recording loud enough to drown out the tailspin in her mind.

Jack put on his coat and hat to the sounds of ‘The Ride of the Valkyrie’. Appropriate background music, he thought. Since I am exiting this Wagnerian drama as a supernumerary, I’ll go out the back way. I leave the starring role to Captain Courageous or whoever is next in line. I am an addendum on a long list of those she can call on to service and save her. That’s a petty way to feel, his logic dictated. And, if it’s bloody alphabetical, I’m down at the bottom of the list, his organizational skills reminded him.

She looked hurt and confused in the parlor. I don’t care, his emotions responded. Let a singing hero deal with her, I’m too busy being unsung, his self-respect added.

“Oh, sod it!” His voice proclaimed as he entered the kitchen.

 “Good evening, Inspector,” Miss Dorothy ‘Dot’ Williams said as she turned from the pan on the stove and pretended that she hadn’t heard his remark.

“Uh…”

“Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

“I’m just passing through. I’m on my way out,” Jack said in a rush. “I didn’t know you were here. No, thank you. I’ll be just be going. Excuse me.”

“It will settle you, Inspector.” She looked at him with kind eyes and compassion. A lovely young woman, engaged to his deputy, Constable Collins. She had an old-fashioned quality, her unbobbed hair, her face free of make-up. Calmly speaking to him even though she was in her nightgown, robe and slippers. Jack Robinson felt old and jaded in the presence of such youth and promise. “Hugh and I have finally set the date. Or, did you already know?”

“Collins may have mentioned it to me, Miss Williams. To confirm his leave time. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I do apologize for my earlier behavior. Pardon me.”

“Don’t mention it, Inspector. Whatever is that noise?” Dot asked as she removed the pan from the stove.

“Wagner, Miss Williams. The Valkyrie were loose and now it sounds like they’re burying Siegfried.”

“Perhaps I’ll just shut the kitchen door? Please, have a seat, Inspector. Mr. Butler has gone out to his lodge meeting. I was upstairs reading that exciting new novel by Mrs. Wanda Wonder and came down for a treat,” she explained.

“Wanda Wonder? Fascinating,” Jack sighed, sat down and attempted to make civilized conversation.

“Yes. She writes a series called Love’s Old Refrain.”

“Love’s old refrain?” Jack said with a melancholy expression. “That’s one for the divorce court or the RAAF.”

“Hugh Collins teases me about reading them.” Dot went on, hoping to distract and dispel Jack’s gloom. “But, there is a lot of wisdom in Mrs. Wonder’s books. I’ll get you that big cup to use.”

“Do I look in danger of breaking crockery, Miss Williams?” asked Jack with a furrowed brow.

“Of course not, Inspector. It’s just that cups always look so small in your hand. Oh dear, I didn’t mean your hand is too big.”

“To tell you the truth, I often feel like I’m using a doll’s house tea service when I use bone china,” he confided.

“Here you are.” Dot handed him the mug.

“Aren’t you having any? Was this yours?”

“I can make more later. Now, let me see if I can find a button to match,” said Dot as she opened her nearby sewing basket.

“To match what?

“You’re missing a button on your overcoat sleeve, Inspector. I’ll sew it on while you drink your cocoa. You can leave your coat on. Would you care for a ginger biscuit?” Dot indicated a plate on the table.

“I would. Thank you. They are so very good with hot cocoa.”

“Yes, they are.”

“I like to dunk them, crass as it sounds.”

“That’s the best way to enjoy them. It won’t take long to secure the button. Do you prefer the brown one or the brown-gray one?”

“What do you think?” asked Jack as he secured another biscuit.

“I think Miss Phryne is very smart. But, sometimes she can’t see the forest for the trees.” Jack looked at Dot with some surprise and then took a sip of cocoa. “The brown one, I think,” said Dot.

“I bow to your superior judgment. This is excellent cocoa, Miss Williams. Please go on about Mrs. Wonders’ books.”

“Well, take ‘Felicity’s Farewell’, for example. Here, I’ll just touch up your sleeve, it has some loose threads. In that book, Franklin Farewell, Felicity’s suitor, finds himself attracted to the squire’s daughter, Regina Reynolds. She has beauty and wealth, lives in a big house and has a dog called Tray. Hold still. I don’t want to stick you. I can fix this fray so that it hardly shows. Now, where was I?”

“Old dog Tray?”

“Actually, he was a puppy and Franklin saved him from drowning.”

“I’m happy to hear it. And, then Miss Reynolds thought he was a real hero as opposed to an unsung one?”

“No. She didn’t even say thank you. Franklin was soaking wet, everyone was laughing at him and all Regina Reynolds did was tell her maid, Lulu, to take the dog and dry it off.”

“So not a hero, then?”

“No, unfortunately. There’s more fray here than I thought. Just lift your hand. Elbow on the table while I snip the loose threads and do a quick mend.” Jack did as he was told. “But Felicity was there, too. She didn’t laugh. She handed him her lace handkerchief to dry off. It was so small and he was so wet. They both laughed and then looked into each other’s eyes. Regina Reynolds realized what she had lost, but it was too late.”

“Serves Miss Reynolds right,” said Jack as he dunked a biscuit in his cocoa with his left hand.

“It did. And, what about Lord Dare in Mrs. Wonder’s ‘Dare’s Dilemma’. He had no wife. But, he did have a castle with a drawbridge and a horse called Bravo. He wore a kilt.”

“Usually they wear saddles,” teased Jack.

“Lord Dare wore the kilt,” Dot dimpled.

“Yes, of course,” Jack said with feigned solemnity. “My mistake.”

“Lord Dare cared for the beautiful, but fickle, Lady Philomena. One night she was in her private parlor entertaining a sea captain. He had a moustache and a medal. Lord Dare, who didn’t have a medal, or a moustache, walked in on them. He was so upset that he forgot his horse, got lost and fell into a bog.”

“Naturally. He was bogged down,” said Jack as he slumped in his chair.

“And, it was a dark and stormy night.”

“Isn’t it always? Ow!”

“Sorry. Stop slouching and sit up straight, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Go on.”

“He was in peril. But, the kindhearted servant girl, Lorena, heard his cries for help, rescued him and nursed him back to health in her little cottage out on the edge of Deathmoor.”

“Good God! Why was she living there?” He took a big sip of cocoa.

“She was an orphan and it was all she could afford,” Dot explained. “Times being what they were.” She pointed to her upper lip to gently hint that the Inspector had a milk moustache.

“Oh! Thank you, Miss Williams,” Jack said as he used his napkin. “So, Lorena lives alone?”

“Yes, except for her chooks. They all have names and are like family to her.”

“What if she runs out of food out on Deathmoor?” Jack asked as he reached for the plate and helped himself to another ginger biscuit.

“Then, she invites a family member for dinner, I suppose,” said Dot with a small smile.

“Very droll, Miss Williams. Go on.”

“She and Lord Dare were all alone together in her poor but honest abode. It was late at night. But, she was a good girl and betrothed to another. But, he was off fighting in the war.”

“Which war?” Jack asked as he finished his cocoa.

“Mrs. Wonder didn’t say. But, while Lorena served Lady Philomena faithfully, she also cared about Lord Dare’s well-being and wanted him to be happy.”

“Lorena sounds like a special kind of person.”

“She was. She had that unfortunate stutter, though.”

“No one is perfect.”

“True. There. All done.”

“Yes,” Jack said with resignation. “C’est fini.  J’ai fini.”

“The Victoria Constabulary is just as good as the RAAF!” Dot said with conviction. “Better, in fact.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone feels that way,” Jack said unhappily and looked down at the table.

“And, do you know what Janice Jones said to her acquaintance, Jason Jarvis, when Juanita James preferred another over Jason?”

“Love is alliterative and sadly over-rated?” Jack met Dot’s eyes and gave a quick little smile.

“No. Janice Jones said--‘There are plenty of fish in the sea. If she can’t see that, then, go fishing’! You’re a good catch,” Dot added and then blushed.

Jack looked at her with new appreciation as he stood up. “Thank you for the refreshment and the book reviews. And, the mend.” He admired his new button and polished it on his coat.

“I was happy to help,” Dot said as she rose to see him out.

He turned at the door and added, ““Your kindness helped fix more frays and loose threads than you can imagine. Constable Collins is a very lucky man. Goodnight, Miss Williams.”

“Goodnight, Inspector.”

 

She’s going to lose him, if she keeps playing out like she that, thought Dot as she tidied up the kitchen and made herself a bedtime snack.

Oh, that’s disrespectful, isn’t it?

I didn’t think the Captain and the Inspector are even in the same league. Miss Phryne is not only fickle, she’s foolish.

Oh, that’s judgmental. I’ll have to say some extra Hail Mary’s before bed to make up for my sinful thoughts.

And, how can she let him go around like that? All woebegone, and frayed and hungry? There’s none so blind as those who cannot see.

Oh, now I’m being self-righteous.

The Inspector needs someone homey and understanding, someone to keep him company and put him at ease. Miss Phryne thinks she understands men. But, she has no idea what a real man like the Inspector needs and wants.

Oh dear. I didn’t mean it like that.

He just looks like he could use a woman’s touch.

Oh my. Not like that.

He’s quite good-looking, though, tall and auburn like Lord Dare.

Not as handsome as my Hugh, though!

He’s usually so formal. But here in the kitchen he was funny and charming.

Not as charming as Hugh Collins, of course.

If the Inspector had a wife, she would make him warm meals, mend his clothes, and offer a sympathetic ear. Miss Phryne does like to talk. Sometimes I think she just likes the sound of her own voice.

Oh dear. Now I’m being disloyal.

If the Inspector, fell into a bog and caught a chest cold, I could make him scotch broth and serve it to him from my only spoon. Just like Lorena did. She even made a mustard plaster for him. I would do that willingly for the Inspector. He’d be propped up in my bed in his dressing gown. Leaning against the headboard, weak and feverish and in need of tender, loving care. But, it would all be proper, because I would be his nurse and he would be delirious and in and out of consciousness most of the time.

If I didn’t have Hugh Collins secured and our wedding date finally set, the Inspector might find himself in some danger from me. And, then wouldn’t Miss Phryne be sorry?

Oh dear.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything." Jane Austen, Persuasion  
> "Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." Jane Austen


End file.
